


A River in Egypt

by Angelci5



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-30
Updated: 2011-07-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 00:05:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/231397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angelci5/pseuds/Angelci5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The course of true love never did run smooth... well not for Bodie and Doyle, not straight away, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A River in Egypt

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2009, with the title based on the Mark Twain quote "Denial ain't just a river in Egypt".

Bodie is one of the toughest men he's ever met. He exudes physical power, a carefully restrained aggression and danger.

And here he is on his knees, sucking Doyle's cock with an expertise that tells Doyle far more than he wants to know.

Doyle throws his head back against the wall fighting to keep control, trying to ride the waves as they build to levels beyond his dreams, keeping him balanced on the precipice of orgasm, almost afraid of the fall on the other side.

He despises himself for letting this happen. It was meant to be a one-off that first time, several weeks ago... although if he’s brutally honest, deep down he'd known it would be the beginning, that it couldn’t be anything else.

 _Manchester. A standard job shadowing a man whose movements may or may not prove useful to Cowley. Same as a hundred other times when they’d had to follow someone without being privy to what the Old Man was planning. Nothing unusual, nothing out of the ordinary... nothing to hint that Doyle’s world was about to pivot and tilt into a different orbit._

 _Cowley had insisted he needed his top team for this task and he’d been in no mood to hear their complaints about it, so with a terse reminder of the terms of their contracts, he’d sent them on their way. This hadn’t pleased Bodie who’d had to cancel yet another date with his current blonde, something which had amused Doyle no end._

 _The job was as boring as they expected. But the tedium of observing and surmising was finally broken on the third day, when their target chose to spend his evening at a strip club. Bodie and Doyle exchanged grins at their change of fortune._

 _“The Cow will never believe this is legit when he sees our expenses,” Bodie murmured as they paid the skimpily clad woman behind the desk at the entrance._

 _It was a seedy little club, with a small stage where the audience could stand just inches away from the girls as they performed. While the object of their investigation sat at a side table drinking pints, Doyle and Bodie stood towards the back, relying on the poor lighting and shadows to conceal them, as one after another the girls took to the stage with their routines._

 _“Seen one, you’ve seen ‘em all,” muttered Bodie after a while._

 _“You’re never complaining about watching birds take their kit off?”_

 _“Just saying there’s only so much stripping a red-blooded fella can take…”_

 _“You’re joking!”_

 _“Too much teasing… some of us need a bit of action as well, know what I mean?”_

 _Doyle laughed. “So what you gonna do, Casanova, try your luck backstage?”_

 _“Hardly, not when we’re supposed to be keeping an eye on laughing boy over there.”_

 _By eleven-thirty it seemed their target had had enough too. As the latest performer worked her way through the audience for her tips, he stuck a pound note in her collection glass, drained the dregs of his pint and went straight home._

 _They reported in to Cowley, who said they were to stand down for now and could return to London in the morning unless he informed them otherwise. Then they went back to their modest hotel room, a twin as instructed by the ever frugal Cowley._

 _While Bodie was taking a shower, Doyle sat on his bed leaning back against the velvet headboard. He closed his eyes remembering one of the girls from earlier... the way she'd hooked her thumbs in her G-string, spun around and bent over as she peeled off the scrap of fabric; thighs parted wide, fingers running invitingly between her legs ... Doyle automatically palmed the erection growing pleasurably beneath his jeans._

 _And at that moment, the bathroom door opened and Bodie came back into the room, a small towel slung around his hips and another in his hand rubbing at his hair. He glanced at Doyle, doing an almost imperceptible double take. He stood for a moment, still drying his hair, and looked with measured consideration at his partner. Then, dropping the towel he’d been holding, he slowly approached and sat down on the edge of the bed. “This evening got you going, did it?” he asked with a knowing smile. “Told you, didn’t I,” he added softly, “all that teasing and no action…”_

 _Aware of what was about to happen, Doyle wasn’t able to speak, almost forgot to breathe. His head was telling him to stop this before it went any further, but another part of him, long suppressed, wanted it with a terrifying intensity._

 _As though in slow motion, Doyle watched as Bodie's hand moved to cup his groin and he instinctively thrust into it... ‘Just this once,’ he told himself as Bodie deftly undid his jeans and helped him push them down. Knowing fingers began to caress heated flesh, turning Doyle’s blood into fire. Bodie unwrapped his towel, took Doyle's hand and placed it onto his own growing erection. Doyle closed his eyes, and mirroring Bodie’s actions and rhythm, he moved his hand over Bodie’s cock, thrilling at the feel of it as it rapidly hardened under his touch._

 _He was flying on the sensations when a shift of movement made him open his eyes in time to see Bodie's face coming towards him, head slightly angled, lips slightly parted... More than a little stunned, Doyle turned his head away and felt Bodie's lips lightly brush his jaw. He was incapable of dwelling on the averted kiss though, as all his thoughts centred on the pleasure of Bodie jerking him off, and moments later his world exploded into a thousand fragments of bliss, followed shortly after by a wet warmth splashing over his hand._

 _Afterwards, they separately used the bathroom to clean up, and neither referred to what had happened._

 

And so it continues. Now and then when the opportunity arises, a bit of mutual wanking. Bodie always instigates it and Doyle, while not exactly unwilling, always makes sure he just appears to go along for the ride.

A couple of times Bodie has unnerved him by mentioning their illicit actions, alluding to something more. In doing so he’s making them real, acknowledging something Doyle doesn’t want acknowledged. And each time Doyle’s made it clear there’s nothing to say.

But today, Bodie has stunned him by upping the ante. He’d started off stroking Doyle, running his thumb over the top just how Doyle likes, and then he’d dropped to his knees and taken him into his mouth.

Doyle’s hands are clenched into fists to stop him reaching out and touching. His eyes are tightly shut, he doesn’t dare open them; seeing is believing and he isn't ready for that. Probably never will be. With his eyes shut he can try to deny who it is, try to pretend it’s someone else. But even in this self-inflicted darkness, images of Bodie fill his head. No one else can break through all his barriers, no one else can take him to these heights and make him feel like this... and he hates Bodie for it.

Doyle grits his teeth, denying the sounds trying to escape from his throat. But he can't stop the pounding of his heart or the shortness of his breath, and his chest heaves as it works hard to fill his lungs with enough air.

The lure of reality becomes too much for him, though. In his mind's eye he sees Bodie as he is now, in this grubby bedsit at the end of a job, kneeling before him, pleasuring him, sucking him.

Taking a ragged breath, Doyle opens his eyes and looks down.

Bodie’s dark head is moving in rhythm with the intense pleasure pulsating along his cock, and Doyle watches as those incredible lips slide up and down the length of his saliva glistening shaft.

“Oh Christ,” he moans against his own volition, as he witnesses this vision that he knows will be his downfall. He feels something stir in his chest and settle there, and the tiny part of his mind that is still working realises this will change him forever.

He watches as the mouth lingers on the head of his cock, a tongue swiping around it and into the slit before hot lips are gliding back down, taking him in full.

Bodie. This is _Bodie!_ Bodie’s lips encircling him, Bodie’s tongue running along the underside, Bodie’s fingers ringing the base of his cock while the other hand gently fondles his balls.

Then, when Doyle knows he can't last much longer, sapphire eyes look up at him. They hold his gaze like a snake hypnotising its prey and he can’t look away. And Bodie continues to suck him and watches as he falls over the precipice.

 

Doyle isn't surprised to find that at some point he'd slid down the wall and is now sitting on the floor. His legs feel like jelly, his pulse is still fast and he feels light headed. He doesn't want to open his eyes, doesn't want to see Bodie... Will he be patiently waiting for his turn... expecting Doyle to return the favour...?

Doyle forces himself to look. Bodie is standing as far away as the tiny room will allow, looking out of the window. They’ve spent the last forty-eight hours stuck in this room, keeping watch through that window. As though sensing Doyle's eyes on him, Bodie turns to face him and Doyle notes with relief that his groin shows just its usual relaxed swell.

Bodie smiles bitterly. “Don't worry, I took care of myself. No need for you to do anything distasteful, like touch me.”

Feeling at a distinct disadvantage, Doyle scrambles up from the threadbare carpet. “Fuck off, Bodie, you got what you wanted.”

“That what you think?”

“Don't start this again! Don't start making out there's more to this, because there isn't!”

“Oh yeah, me sucking your cock means nothing, right?”

“No bloke's gonna turn down a free blow job, that's all it was!”

Bodie just looks at him, his expression unreadable. Then he walks slowly over and stands in front of him. He leans in, until his lips are just touching Doyle's ear, making the hairs stand up on the back of his neck. “Stop fighting it,” he whispers. “This is who you are.”

With that he walks out of the bedsit, his shoes echoing on the bare wood as he bounds down the stairs, leaving Doyle fuming.

oOo

A few days later, the success of their latest op papering over the animosity between them, Bodie drives them back from the shooting range. “I’ve been thinking,” he says.

“Careful.”

“I think we should tell the Cow.”

Doyle frowns. “Tell him what?”

“You know... about... us.” Bodie glances at him.

Doyle feels a jolt of panic flare through him. He looks at Bodie aghast. “Why the fuck would you want to do that? There’s nothing to tell!”

“You know what the Old Man’s like, doesn’t miss a trick... what if he finds out somehow?” Bodie suggests, sounding far too calm and reasonable about something which is unthinkable to Doyle. “It would be better if we just told him... he probably won’t even be that surprised-”

“If he doesn’t kick us out, we’ll be permanently assigned to the Outer bloody Hebrides!”

“Look, he knows we’re both... that way inclined, so he must know there’s a chance–”

“How does he know?” Doyle demands. “What have you told him?”

“Nothing! I haven’t said anything! But it’s on our files, isn’t it?”

“Might be on yours, it’s not on mine!”

“What?” Bodie takes his eyes off the road a moment, to look at him in disbelief. “You never told him?”

“Nothing to tell,” Doyle says firmly.

“How about the fact you like men?”

“I’m not queer!”

Bodie gives a snort of derision. “No, course you’re not, mate, all straight blokes like being wanked and sucked off by another fella!”

“Leave it, Bodie!”

For the rest of the journey, Doyle’s mind is racing. He’s shocked to find out that Cowley knows about Bodie. He assumes Bodie must’ve volunteered that information... does that mean Cowley suspects Doyle too, and that was why they were teamed? Or perhaps, when Cowley was doing his background checks, he’d traced someone from Doyle’s college days and already knows about his past?

He wonders if it’s worth pressing Bodie further about this, he may have an idea of how much Cowley knows or suspects... But one glance at Bodie’s expression, tight with rage, tells him there’s no point.

The only thing to do is to stop. Next time Bodie tries it on, he’ll make it very clear he isn’t interested.

oOo

But as the days turn into weeks, to Doyle’s surprise and increasing annoyance, Bodie doesn’t try anything at all.

In fact, although to all outward appearances he seems his usual self, Bodie avoids any social contact. There are no more invitations to the pub or double dates… he gives the impression of always being busy evenings and weekends.

During this time, Doyle makes sure Bodie knows about his own busy personal life. He mentions which girl he’s been out with the night before, the places he’s been at the weekend.

To his chagrin, though, rather than rile Bodie into some kind of reaction, he just shows typical appreciation of Doyle’s conquests with the female sex, often pestering him for more details.

After three weeks it’s wearing thin on Doyle. So under the pretence of boredom, whilst they are in their small, airless office, sitting at opposite desks both catching up on paperwork that should have been finished the previous week, Doyle ponders his next move.

He has to hand it to Bodie, he’s playing a very patient game: withdraw all attention and wait for Doyle to make a move. Well okay, Doyle can play games too. He glances across at his partner who’s doggedly typing up a report. He'll invite Bodie for a drink tonight, remind him what he’s missing and let him think he’s in with a chance, but then he’ll go home alone. Keep him off balance.

“Right, that's me done,” says Bodie, breaking through Doyle’s thoughts. He carefully slides the paper out of the roller and puts it with the rest of his report in a folder. “I'm getting out of here, before Cowley finds another little job for us.” He stands and picks his leather jacket off the back of the chair, shrugging it on.

“Good idea,” Doyle glances up. “Fancy a pint or two?” he asks casually, standing up.

“Can't tonight, mate,” Bodie pulls a regretful smile. “See you tomorrow.” And he walks out of the office.

Doyle is left staring at the empty doorway, listening to Bodie's footsteps fading down the corridor. The bastard has turned him down. _Bodie has turned him down!_

So, he doesn't want to make it easy for Doyle, wants to make him work a bit harder. Well sod that. Bodie’s missed his chance, and he isn't getting another.

oOo

Two more weeks pass and still Bodie’s playing the platonic mate and nothing more. At work he’s cheerful and easy going, on the surface everything is normal, but Doyle keenly feels the loss of something. A curl of unease has settled in the pit of his stomach for the last few days as he considers the possibility that this might not be a game Bodie is playing. Bodie might just have lost interest in him... But isn't that what he wanted? He's told Bodie he isn't queer, he should be glad their relationship is back to how it was before Manchester.

No... It’s just the attention he’s missing, nothing more. He liked knowing that Bodie wanted him, he can admit that. So naturally he misses the attention and the power, that’s all. Well, if Bodie isn't interested, maybe someone else will be. How would Bodie like that?

The next day at work, Doyle bides his time, waiting for the right moment. It comes towards the end of the day, when he overhears a phone call Bodie’s making. He’s clearly talking to a bird, judging by the soft, sexy tones of his voice and the teasing laughter as he arranges to pick her up later.

Doyle saunters into their office as Bodie’s replacing the receiver and stands beside his desk. “What's the name of that club near Camden… you know, the one Benny told us about?” he asks casually.

Bodie looks up sharply.

That’s got his attention.

“Can't remember,” replies Bodie, eyes boring into Doyle’s.

“No problem, I'll give Benny a call...” He starts to turn away.

“Why do you want to know?”

Doyle turns back and with both hands on the desk, leans down close to Bodie. “Why do you think?” he says with a predatory smile. He pushes himself off the desk and struts out of the office, feeling Bodie's eyes burning into his back.

He shouldn’t goad Bodie, but he can't stop himself, and he doesn’t want to examine the reason for that too closely.

oOo

The club is busy. It’s filled with music, smoke, alcohol. And men. The sounds and smells flood Doyle’s senses, making him feel reckless. He'll be cautious though, he remembers what Benny said about the place and anyway, he’s only curious.

He makes his way to the bar, feeling several pairs of eyes follow him and enjoying the attention. He's dressed carefully tonight: his favourite jeans straight out of the wash so they fit like a second skin, his cowboy boots, a black vest top and his green bomber jacket. He knows he looks good.

He orders a pint and casually glances around. He smiles to himself as he notices one man already making his approach. He’s a little bigger than Doyle, same sort of age, with shoulder length blond hair.

He leans on the bar next to Doyle and smiles regretfully. “Didn't time that very well, did I?” he says over the music.

Doyle just looks at him, makes it clear he’s waiting to be impressed.

“I mean, for offering to buy you a drink,” he nods at Doyle's full glass. “Should’ve come over as soon as I saw you, but I didn't want to look too keen... Could've waited a bit, but someone else would’ve chatted you up by then...”

Doyle smiles. “That what you're doing? Chatting me up?” he says pointedly.

The other man grins. “Trying to, yeah. I'm Sean.”

“Russ.”

“Shall we find somewhere to sit down?”

Doyle pauses, considering, then nods. “Yeah, OK.”

He’s just about to pick up his drink and follow the other man over to some bar stools, when another figure steps between himself and Sean. Doyle finds he is faced with broad, leather-clad shoulders and he hears Bodie, his voice like steel, “Get lost, mate, he's spoken for.”

“Bodie!” he hisses, ducking around his partner to see Sean looking slightly wary of this big stranger radiating menace. Sean's eyes flit to Doyle, but Bodie takes a step closer to him, crowding him. “You deaf?” he snarls and the other man backs away before turning and disappearing quickly into the crowd on the dance floor.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing?” Doyle demands furiously.

“Save the outraged act, Doyle, I'm here just like you wanted me to be,” Bodie says with icy calm.

“What? You're deranged, mate!”

“So what was that little performance this afternoon about?”

“Fuck off, Bodie! I don't want you here, all right? Is that clear enough?”

“I'm not leaving you in this place, they don't take kindly to prick teases, you'll get your head kicked in... or worse.”

“Yeah, course you'd know all about this place, wouldn't you?" Doyle shouts. "Probably fucked every bloke in here!”

People nearby are starting to look at them and Bodie takes Doyle's arm in a vice like grip and steers him towards the door. “For Christ's sake, this isn't the local bloody disco, these blokes come here to fuck and don't take no for an answer.”

Doyle tries to jerk his arm free, but short of literally fighting with his partner, he can't pull loose. Cowley wouldn't take kindly to his two best agents brawling with one another in a gay club, so Doyle has no choice but to let Bodie bundle him out.

Once they are in the car park, Bodie releases his hold. “Where's your car?”

Doyle’s too angry to speak. Instead he paces up and down, breathing heavily, glaring at Bodie.

“Doyle. Where's your car?” Bodie asks again, louder.

In that moment, Doyle sees Bodie’s cold expression for the mask it is, and glimpses the distress behind it. He feels his heart twist and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I got a taxi,” he says finally.

“Jesus, how did you think you were you going to get home? Get a lift off one of those blokes?” Bodie thumbs over his shoulder towards the club. “My car's over here.”

Bodie marches off towards his Capri, and after a moment’s pause to consider his options and their consequences, Doyle grudgingly follows.

oOo

They don't speak on the drive back until they pull up at Bodie's flat. About to demand he be driven to his own place Doyle turns to Bodie, but his partner speaks first.

“We need to sort this out,” he says firmly, looking straight ahead.

Doyle doesn't answer. He’s in the perfect mood for a bloody good fight, so he gets out of the car and jogs impatiently up the steps to the front door, where he waits for Bodie.

oOo

They are in Bodie's living room, nursing glasses of whisky. Doyle is sitting forward on the low, beige sofa, Bodie is standing by the fireplace. He appears composed, calm. He's taken his jacket off and is wearing tight, black trousers and a black, cotton t-shirt which shows off his sculpted shoulders and arms. Doyle feels the now familiar emotion swirl in his chest. It has taken up permanent residence there, it seems.

Bodie breaks the silence. “Why d’you go there?”

“Just curious, that's all.”

“But you're not queer, right?”

“What does it matter? Why's it so important to you?” Doyle demands, feeling his temper rising with his defences.

Bodie sighs. “It's not. I don't give a fuck what you call yourself, I just think you should be honest with yourself... and me.” The composure slips slightly and Doyle looks away, afraid of what he may see. “I can’t do this anymore,” Bodie continues, his voice less steady. “It's up to you.”

Doyle downs his drink and puts the empty tumbler on the carpet beside him. His instinct is to attack, to shout at Bodie that he’s had enough of this, and enough of Bodie, and he can stuff their relationship. But... he’s suddenly aware that _this_ could be his chance, that maybe he could free himself from the prison he's unwittingly created... Fleetingly he imagines getting something he's never even dared to consider before.

What’s the worst that can happen? Bodie is clearly out of patience, and if they continue like this their partnership will be over. Every aspect of it.

Fear slams into his stomach like a fist. He looks up at Bodie, willing him to understand. “Maybe I don’t find it as easy as you,” he says finally, emotions warring inside him.

Bodie puts his untouched drink on the mantelpiece and sits down next to Doyle, looking at him, waiting.

Doyle concentrates on an old wine stain on the pale carpet as the silence stretches between them. Bloody Bodie, using the oldest technique in the book. “I messed about when I was younger,” Doyle says eventually, “but that's all it was, messing about. Stopped soon as I joined the force.” He risks a brief glance at Bodie. “And I like women,” he says emphatically, looking back at the floor. “I like fucking women... stayed away from blokes, wasn't worth the aggro.” He pauses. “‘Til you turned up.”

“So you were just messing about with me too?”

Doyle turns to look at his partner, surprised by the hurt he detects in those words. “No... I just... I didn't want to go back to all that again, I'd left it behind.”

“It's not something you can turn on and off... it's what you are.”

“And what makes you the bloody expert?” demands Doyle, hackles rising.

“Because I'm the same, aren't I! But I decided a long time ago not to give a fuck what anyone else thought.” He glares at Doyle. “Is that it? You’re worried about what other people think? It's like the job, Ray, not everyone approves of CI5, do they, but you believe in what we do-”

“That’s different!”

“Or does it disgust you?” Bodie carries on angrily. “I mean, you won’t let me kiss you and you don’t like touching me... Do you hate queers? Can’t bear to be one yourself?”

“No!” Doyle runs his hands through his hair in frustration.

“Then what is it? What’s the problem?”

“It's you!” Doyle shouts.

Bodie flinches slightly, the anger vanishing. “Me?”

Doyle swallows. “Us. It's... too much. I want you too much,” he mutters reluctantly, leaving the fear unsaid.

Bodie exhales slowly and the tension visibly ebbs from his body. “It goes both ways, you know,” he says, softly now.

Doyle doesn’t respond straight away, but lets the words settle around him. “It’s about choices,” he says at last, still defiant, a token gesture as the binds of resistance slither loose. “Perhaps this isn’t what I want... Ever think of that? I’m free to make a bloody choice about it, aren’t I?” He looks directly at his partner and is relieved to see he’s not fooled.

“Deny yourself, you mean,” Bodie tells him bluntly, though his eyes are sparkling.

Doyle looks down at his clasped hands. The anxiety he was feeling is morphing into something else... excitement, anticipation.

“I’ve never even kissed you,” Bodie continues, challenging.

Doyle turns his head and looks at Bodie steadily. Slowly, giving Doyle time to deflect it, Bodie leans in and brushes his lips against Doyle's. It’s gentle and tentative. Then Bodie sits back slightly and regards him.

A flood of emotions race through Doyle and he struggles to decipher them. More. He wants more. So he closes his eyes and finds Bodie's lips with his own. The kiss is firmer this time, Bodie teasing his lips apart with his tongue, probing, claiming. Doyle responds with equal fervour, revelling in the freedom of it, the eroticism of it.

He breaks the kiss finally, but withdraws only a few inches. They are both breathing heavily and Bodie’s eyes are dark, raking over his face. “Doyle,” he utters, an affirmation barely above a whisper. The heat of his breath flutters over Doyle’s lips, heightening his arousal. Every nerve-ending in his body is alight with lust and longing. Bodie puts his hand on the back of Doyle’s head and kisses him again, fiercely now, his desire fully unleashed. Without breaking contact, Bodie lies down along the length of the sofa, pulling Doyle with him.

They’re both rock hard and aching, hips grinding together. Grunts and moans fill the air as they frantically struggle to undress. Kissing and biting along Doyle’s jaw and neck, Bodie fumbles with the button and zip of his jeans, dragging them down. Doyle rips Bodie’s t-shirt over his head, before attacking his trousers.

Finally, beautifully, it’s just skin against skin, and their urgency increases further. They wrestle for dominance, all the while clutching and stroking, licking and kissing anywhere they can reach. Hips rock back and forth, fighting for purchase, slick with pre-cum.

Doyle barely notices when they tumble from the embattled sofa to the un-giving carpet. Grunting they roll over once, twice, and Bodie is above him, arms braced, thrusting fiercely. Doyle rises up and bites his left nipple, then sucks it hard, making Bodie hiss. He gentles it with licks, and as Bodie bows his head with a groan, Doyle flips him over so Bodie is beneath him.

He looks down and sees unashamed desire; the broad, muscular chest heaving, the face flushed with arousal, the swollen lips parted.

He’s too close now, can’t prolong it much longer and he knows Bodie is the same, can see it in those hazy, cobalt eyes. He realises that Bodie is waiting for him, needs him to lead them this time. He slides his hand between their sweat-slick groins, joins their heated flesh together in one strong grip and pumps hard. He’s vaguely aware of Bodie tensing and crying out just before he does the same, and for several moments he’s suspended on a cloud of almost unbearable pleasure, as their cocks jerk in his hand and erupt between them.

oOo

His surroundings slowly creep back into his consciousness. He’s aware of the bliss of boneless satiation vying with the discomfort of a hard floor. With a huge effort he opens his eyes. He stares up at the white ceiling and the light fitting hanging directly above him. The carpet feels scratchy beneath his back, and the air is cool over his damp skin. He feels a tiny flicker of panic.

He slowly turns his head towards the presence beside him. Bodie is lying peacefully, his eyes closed, but then they open and he turns to look at Doyle. A moment’s pause and Bodie smiles at him, with such utter happiness that Doyle has to swallow the lump that starts to form in his throat; Bodie’s emotions are clear on his face.

Long, dark lashes sweep briefly downwards as Bodie glances at the space between them, where their arms rest side by side. Then, blue eyes fixed back on him, Bodie’s hand slides underneath Doyle’s, fingers inter-locking and closing. Tightly.

The panic dissolves, leaving just the swirl of emotion which has been haunting him for some weeks. He no longer fears it.

Doyle smiles back at Bodie, aware that now his face too reveals everything he feels… but he doesn’t mind, and with a subtle shock he realises that somehow everything will be all right.

The End


End file.
